Doing The Right Thing

So, when my big sister expressed her concerns, I didn’t get upset.  She’s earned that right.  This is not to suggest that I liked it.  No one wants to be told things that they don’t want to hear. 🙂  But, it’s ok.  And, when my mom was worried that we’d act impulsively, it was also understandable.  (After all, she’s watched us rescue a lot of our stray cats…)  

The facts.  He’s 12.  He’s been through too much.  He’s got issues that I have yet to see.  And, he’s their brother. 

I’m ok with the concerned look in people’s eyes because it’s a concerning situation.  But, it’s also exciting.  Regardless of how it is or ends up, these kids now have an opportunity to get to know each other.  There is currently no bad in that.

Ok, this is what I’m officially not ok with.   

We bought bunk beds.  We have been wanting some in William’s room.  We thought it would be nice if he could have a sleep over and actually have somewhere for his friend to sleep.  And, to be totally honest, I’ve always wanted bunk beds, so his friend, sleeping over, might be me.  🙂

I became more anxious to buy them when we realized that Patrick would most likely be visiting sometime in the summer.  He would need a place to sleep.  So, when I saw a set at the thrift store.  I calmly (excitedly) explained to Brian that it was a sign (because you never see bunk beds at the thrift store) and we should buy them (immediately).  They were also cheaper than any I had seen anywhere and I’d been doing my research.  So, we bought them.  We are now the proud owners of a set of bunk beds that still reside at the thrift store; because we have no way to get them home.   Spoiler alert: If you’re one of my real-life friends, you might be getting a favor request!   Especially, if you have a truck.  Please answer your phone… 😉

Anyway, while paying, I got into a conversation with the cashier.  She’s a nice lady who has also adopted transracially out of foster care, so I feel bonded to her.  She mentioned that the boys would have fun with the bunk beds.  I agreed and added that their 12 year old brother would be visiting and he’d now have a place to sleep.

She looked at me, intently and said “Just to visit?  Not to be in your home permanently?”

Yes, I answered, we were currently just planning visits.

“Oh, good  You’ve never been there, you don’t know.  You couldn’t pay me to take someone else’s 12 year old….”

She said more.  How much they eat, etc.  But, I was stuck on the phrase “someone else’s.”
Doesn’t she get it?  He isn’t someone else’s!  He’s a dependent of the state.  He belongs to the case worker, the foster mother and the system.  (On a side note, by all accounts, the foster mother is wonderful and I met the case worker, so I know she’s aweseome.)  He’s not the birth mother’s because, well, she sucked.  He’s not his last adoptive parents’ because the whole thing evidently sucked.  He deserves to be someone’s.  Every kid does. 

For the record, the cashier really is a very nice woman and I know she had no intention of offending me.  Much less, get me rushing home to write a blog. 😉

It just bothered me and made my heart break for him a little more.  What has happened to these children is unfair.  And, it is not their fault.  He is not someone else’s random 12 year old.  He is this 12 year old.  He is my children’s brother.  He is a kid who likes wrestling, his Nintendo 3ds, and his siblings. 

So, I don’t care if he’s 2, 12, or 22.  He can come visit.  He can eat too much of my food.  My kids already do that, anyway.  And, I will try to make him feel loved.  That much I am sure of.   

And, that is definitely what I think is right.